Locked Out
by Cybra
Summary: Everybody has their bad days: falling down the stairs, saying something inappropriate...locking themselves out of their flat...


Locked Out

By Cybra

**Disclaimer:**  The Basil of Baker Street Mysteries belong to the late Eve Titus, and The Great Mouse Detective belongs to the Walt Disney Company.

Basil of Baker Street: Private consulting detective, chemist, musician, genius…

_'And,'_ I noted to myself with a smug smirk one fine spring day, _'absent-minded about some of the most mundane things.'_

I knew better than to think Basil was sitting outside on our front step with his head tilted back towards the sky and eyes closed because he _wanted_ to be there.  Though the spring air had drawn me outdoors for a leisurely stroll, Basil had left the flat in order to research one of his odd interests.  I could even see his notes beside him, revealing that he had not been inside.

Chuckling as I approached, I asked, "Lovely day isn't it?"

Lazily – trying to salvage whatever dignity he had left I assume – he opened his eyes and turned his piercing gaze on me.  "Ah, Dawson.  Yes, it is rather agreeable."

"I really didn't expect _you to be out enjoying the sunshine," I continued, smiling a bit wickedly. "I thought you would start one of your experiments as soon as you got back from the library."_

He tilted his head forward so that his chin was parallel to the ground.  His eyes narrowed in obvious annoyance, and his tail swished to one side.  "An unexpected change in plans arose."

After suffering so much teasing from my friend, I could not resist the temptation to turn the tables on him.  The most infinitesimal detail of a case could not escape Basil's notice, but a client's name, pouring milk in his own coffee, and where he left his bow rosin could slip his mind all too easily.

_'Or,'_ I thought with a snicker, _'leaving the flat without his keys.'_

"Unexpected change of plans?" I inquired, all innocence. "What sort of change?"

His ears pinned back much like an angry cat's as another snicker slipped free of my precarious control.  "The very reason that I make sure that _you have your keys when we leave on a case."_

To hear him even obliquely admit to locking himself out of our shared rooms made me laugh out loud.  I nearly doubled over in my mirth.

Basil, obviously, did not share my amusement.  Baring his teeth, I swear he growled at me in irritation.

It took me several minutes to recover; however, I still snickered every so often.  I placed a hand over my mouth in an attempt to hide my smile, pretending to smooth my mustache.  "Why not just pick the lock?  You are quite accomplished at that skill."

"And have Mrs. Judson brain me like she did the last time I did that?"  He vehemently shook his head.  "Never!"

My laughter returned in full force.

Basil's lack of amusement increased.  "I see nothing humorous in being clouted over the head by your landlady's heaviest pewter teapot because she thinks you're a burglar, and then spending most of the afternoon in a daze as that same landlady explains to the local constable what happened, Dawson!  When Vole found out, he couldn't look me in the eye for a _week!"_

Between chuckles, I forced out, "You know as well as I do that she leaves the flat every first Wednesday to visit friends."

_"Except_ every fourth month when she stays here to get extra – as she calls it – 'seasonal cleaning' done instead," he snapped. "And this is one of those months."

Still laughing, I reached for my pocket and strolled up to the door.  "All right then, Basil.  I'll take care of this one."

Basil, rather than standing, slid over to one side of the step.  Placing his chin on one hand, he glanced up at me with a bit of a cross look before settling upon watching our fellow Londoners go by.

I realized as I placed my hand into my pocket that the incident with the teapot must have happened before I met him.  It possibly had happened while Basil and Mrs. Judson were still adjusting to each other.  (And knowing my friend's unusual habits, it was a rather _long adjustment period.)_

My fingers searched my pocket, but, to my horror, no key was to be found.

"What the devil?" I muttered.

"Problem?" Basil asked me, not looking up at me but instead watching as a flower-seller screamed at a constable, his tail arched with interest.

I shook my head, knowing that he might be watching from the corner of his eye.  "No, it's probably in my other pocket."

I reached into this pocket.  Once again, there was no key to be found.  "Oh, no."

"That doesn't sound comforting."

"It shouldn't," I snapped, my good humor gone as I frantically patted my pockets before searching them with my hands.

In the end, I found several coins, a ticket stub from the opera we had visited three days before, my handkerchief, and my pocket watch, but my key was gone.

"I'm actually going to employ one of Brynna's favorite sayings:  Do you know where you were when you lost it?"  Basil paused.  "Not that that ever really made _sense._  If you knew where you were when you lost something, it really wouldn't be _lost…"_

"It's not lost!" I retorted. "I _know where it is!  Just give me a minute to think."_

Motioning with the hand not holding his chin, Basil went back to one of his favorite sports: watching the world.

I closed my eyes and visualized what happened that morning before my walk.  I had been in my room, getting ready.  The last thing to go in my pocket was always my key just to make sure I had it.  (I had realized early on that the chances of Basil actually having _his_ were less than fifty-fifty.)  Before I put my key in my pocket, Basil had knocked on my door to tell me that he was going to the library.  We had argued for a few minutes, me trying to convince him to get some exercise other than just walking to the library and back, him trying to convince me to leave him be.  He had won in the end but only because he had promised to join me the next time I went for a walk.  Then we had both exited the flat.

**"I forgot to put the key in my pocket!" I shouted, horrified.**

Basil, who had been sitting with his head tilted to one side as he watched a pair of newsboys as if trying to figure out what they were discussing, jerked back to full alertness.  Giving me an irritated glance, he rubbed an ear and dryly commented, "A little louder please, Dawson?  I didn't quite catch that."

"After our discussion, I forgot to get my key!  It's still on my dresser!"  I looked pointedly at him.

"I am _not picking that lock.  I can assure you that pewter teapots _hurt."__

"Then what do we do?"

Smirking, Basil patted the step beside him.  "Make yourself comfortable.  We're going to be out here a while."

So that is how I spent most of that warm spring afternoon on the front step of 221B Baker Street with my friend until Mrs. Judson let us in when she came out to tend to her garden.

That is also how I learned to double-check that I had my key before leaving that same flat.


End file.
